Snapdragon Silhouette
by Zana Banana
Summary: A discrete shake of the head, and I've lost him to a fortress of isolated protection. Again.


**Snapdragon Silhouette**

Something's burning.

I stir to a canopy of twisting flames and crackling embers.

Good morning.

For a moment I lie there, watching the fire's slow dance of destruction. It's almost—pretty. A heavy warmth chokes me, and I snap to attention when I realize the rafters aren't the only things alight.

"Ahh!"

I swat the selfish inferno's tongue away from the hem of my skirt, then rise to my feet. Taking a quick glance around, I recognize the temple immediately. The memory housing the cause of this arson doesn't come forth as easily.

Nor how I ended up on the floor, although I most likely just tripped and hit my head hard enough to induce a blackout. That's just me, I guess. Graceful as always.

One thing's for sure; I know _why_ I'm here.

And boy, am I pissed off!

I let the frustration fester and bring the good intentions in my veins to a boil. Turning around, I don't have to wait long before finding the object of my indignation.

He's standing near the entrance, back towards me. What else is new. His gaze is fixed somewhere off in the distance, over the railing, over the smooth cobblestone walkway, over the ghosts of a million thoughts.

As I pick my way across the room, sidestepping fallen planks and patches of ashen debris with as much care as my distracted mentality warrants me, I stare at the contours of his muscular back as if glancing away, even for a second, would give him permission to flee.

No _way_ is he escaping this time. Over my dead body.

When I'm within a few feet of my destination, he does something strikingly unexpected.

He faces me. Willingly.

I stutter to a stop, my momentum a force to be reckoned with all in its own.

Our eyes meet and I find something there, a foreign resident in his slated hue of brown. He appears surprised, almost taken aback, but then a look of pure sadness rises. It consumes first his sight, then his cheeks and lips, every part of him slowly sagging beneath the weight of some inward grief.

"Xiao."

Don't you dare. What, you think using my nickname will make everything better, make me forgive all that you've done?

I level what I hope is an unsettling glare through his shield of malevolent concern. I'm blatantly ignoring the fact that the temple is crumbling to oblivion around us. I've waited far too long for this, and nothing is gonna to stop me now. The tips of his dark hair, bridge of his nose, _he_ glistens in the dangerous beauty's amber afterglow. I observe this almost unwillingly, feeling my resolve beginning to melt at the sight of him, beneath the sweltering power of his presence.

_No._

I need to do this.

I need to confront him, once and for all.

I need to stand up for myself, for everyone who can't.

I need to open my damn mouth.

"Aren't evil dictators usually surrounded by henchmen?"

Coming from me, the quip loses its venom. I see the tug of a grin on his lips. Any hesitation I was harboring gives way.

"This war isn't right, Jin; you know it isn't. You can't just enslave everyone and declare yourself God."

The smile quickly fades, its copper life extinguished.

"You know, someone once told me that if I have a dream, I need to make it happen for myself. Right now, my dream is to help you find peace."

His visage creases, as if he's warding off an impeding headache. "You don't understand."

"Of course I don't understand," I retort, "That's what I've been trying to tell you! How can you possibly expect me to understand when you won't even talk to me?"

He starts to turn away from me, and riding a surge of adrenaline I reach out and snatch his arm.

"No, look at me! You're gonna look at me and tell me how I'm supposed to understand!"

His orbs rendezvous with that distant point outside, but he stops moving. "I'm sorry."

My stomach is churning something awful, and I'm incredibly shocked my hands are steady. A knot is crawling up the lining of my throat, but I push it back down with all the strength I can muster.

This is no time for crying, idiot!

Silence stretches between us. Just when I start considering implosion, I hear him let out a deep sigh.

"You can't help, Xiao."

"Why not?" My voice sounds considerably softer. "I want to. More than anything. P—"

_Please _gets caught between my teeth and hangs from the roof of my mouth.

"You shouldn't be here. You're putting yourself in grave danger."

I frown at the familiar sentiment. "I know. And I suppose you don't think I have what it takes to handle it, but that's not for you to determine, is it?"

"There's nothing you can do. It's too late for redemption." A hint of loathing possesses his tone. "Too far beyond my control. The only—"

He trails off indefinitely. A discrete shake of the head, and I've lost him to a fortress of isolated protection. Again.

"You're wrong. There's a way, there's got to be. And we'll find it, together. You just have to trust me."

My fingers fall from the nook of his elbow, find his with only the most gentle whispers of touches along his forearm. Our palms are slick with perspiration, whether from the heat radiating from the flames or something else I can't be certain.

"You don't have to fix this alone. I'm here for you, Jin. Always have been, always will—"

Something ruptures.

In what seems like one swift movement, he spins around and grabs me violently by the shoulders. I stop breathing entirely as I feel his fingertips press deeper, deeper, daring the sensitive skin to bruise. His face is inches from mine, and I now see something else.

Unadulterated fury.

I quickly attempt to regain my bearings. There's nothing to be afraid of. He's not going to hurt me. He could never hurt me. It's Jin, the same guy I've known for the past three years.

But is it?

So close now, I imagine a fissure in his eyes, a break with reality.

My little star, how did you get so lost?

His words are scraps of metal, jagged and ground out. "You just can't get it through your head that I don't want you around."

What?

"What?" I whimper aloud.

"We were never friends. Forget what you think you know about us."

His scowls rip through me. This can't be happening.

"Forget about me."

Somebody pinch me. Somebody, _anybody_.

"I can't." Pathetic, just like the salty betrayal finally welling up, but true.

He shakes me, hard. Spent tears fly from my chin to my exposed arms, his chest.

"Jin, please—"

The next thing I'm aware of is the force of his lips as he crashes them against mine. The cavern behind my teeth is suddenly alive with humid desperation, my lungs with pungent smoke. Firm, slightly chapped, but the kiss is what I've always dreamt it would be. Yet a painful scream erupts in my brain.

I want to throw my arms around him.

I want to push him away.

I want everything and nothing at the same time.

I want the burning empire to collapse and just swallow me whole already.

He makes my decision for me.

Abruptly, he rips himself from me. I inhale, inviting a staircase of hot air between swollen lips. The edges of my perception are blurry with the taste of confusion. Maybe if the room would stop spinning for two seconds, the static threatening to deafen me would be forced to divide and surrender.

Between heaving breaths, he snaps, "There. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

His voice is mocking, distant, but his stare retains the hint of sorrow I caught earlier. "Now there's nothing left for you to wait for, so you can stop. Stop dreaming. Stop hoping. Stop trying. Just stop and learn to accept reality like I have."

In a low whisper, he adds, "I'll never be the same again."

With a shove, he sends me spiraling down, leaving me at the mercy of the ground and the awaiting abyss. It feels like I spend an eternity suspended in the stale air, caught in a memory so thick and yet_ so_ light.

And his voice echoes, "Forget me."

"Jin!"

I throw myself into an upright position. I will my vision to come into focus as haggard pants fall from my mouth. Fingers dance around the perimeter of my right shoulder, and I instinctively wince and cower from them.

Then it hits me. "Jin?"

I turn, hopeful, and a blur of sparkling crimson steals before me.

Flames?

Hair. Miharu's.

She's sitting there, comforting hand dangling with uncertainty in the space my shoulder once occupied.

"It's me, Xiao," she says sweetly, "You're safe."

My wits gradually come back to me. I'm in a hospital bed, scratchy linen draped over my lower body.

What's going on? What happened to the temple?

I manage to articulate one of my many queries. "What am I doing here?"

She frowns. "You don't remember, do you? There was—an explosion—"

Suddenly I recall everything.

"—fire—"

Fighting in the sixth Iron Fist tournament.

"—unconscious—"

Going to the temple, the location of my next match.

"—Secret Service—"

Dodge, kick, dodge, dodge, and then—

"Where is he?" I blurt out.

"Who?"

"Jin!" I cry.

But the blank expression my question earns me says it all.

_No_.

I couldn't have—it was _so_ real. Surely that entire episode wasn't a figment of my imagination. I reach up, gingerly trace the place where his lips were. It happened, I know it.

"Xiao," she murmurs, "You know I love you, and only want what's best for you."

I give a small nod.

"Well—and please, _please_ don't take this the wrong way—I think maybe it's time. You know, to leave the past in the past."

I look up in disbelief of what I know is coming. I imagine her seeing a fissure, a break with reality deep within my gaze.

"To—forget about him."

With all the strength I can muster, I slap my best friend.

It's then that the sleeve of the starched gown I'm wearing slides out of place, revealing five small bruises on my right shoulder.


End file.
